


Yes, No, Maybe

by Antiago



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst, Humor, M/M, Murasakibara is not retarded, Top!Murasakibara, and Kiyoshi needs to understand this., or a mental child
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antiago/pseuds/Antiago
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>“I'm not candy,</i> Kiyoshi thinks, as a muscle in his thigh starts to spasm embarrassingly. <i>I don't taste sweet. And I won't melt no matter how much you lick me.”</i></p>
<p>Kiyoshi accidentally eats one of Murasakibara's candies. While giving due punishment, Murasakibara accidentally gets a taste of Kiyoshi. </p>
<p>He may have found his new favorite flavor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Yes, No, Maybe

Kiyoshi is explaining hanafuda to Kagami when he does _it_ , and _it_ happens.

He's just finished laying out the deck, and the basic rules. 

_“No, don't worry about numbers, just about the types--”_

The insidiously colorful bag is open about two feet away. Without thinking about it, Kiyoshi grabs a couple of gummies. He pops them into his mouth.

The world shudders. Mountains fall. Oceans rise.

Actually, they probably don't.

But it feels that way. 

_Ah._

Kuroko mentioned this, didn't he? Something like: _“Even if you are starving on a desert island, it is better to eat sand than to eat the candy that belongs to Murasakibara” ?_

Kiyoshi looks around. He feels distinctly alone, suddenly, as if the entire world is trying to lean away from him. 

Without actually moving, every member of the GOM in the room seems further away than he remembers. Almost every member. Kuroko is nowhere to be seen, and Murasakibara is... where, exactly?

A hand reaching over Kiyoshi's shoulder answers him.

Murasakibara picks up the bag. He's making a noise. A low, keening, “beehive-about-to-explode” kind of noise. 

Kiyoshi wonders if he can fix this by spitting out the mangled gummies and giving them back. No? No. Probably not.

He swallows instead. It practically echoes. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kiyoshi finally sees Kuroko. He's dragging Kagami away by his shirt sleeve.

_“Uh. Should we, maybe--”_ Kagami starts to say. 

_”Accomplices involving themselves will share the fate of the criminal,”_ says Kuroko face solemn. And nobody can do a solemn face quite like Kuroko. 

Kiyoshi turns towards Murasakibara, trying on his best smile. Not that it normally gets him out of trouble, especially not with Hyuga who'll hit him just for trying, but this is Murasakibara. 

He still doesn't know what kind of face to make in front of Murasakibara. Hiding behind a smile is easiest.

“Sorry, sorry," Kiyoshi says. He keeps his voice as polite and reasonable as possible, because the expression on Murasakibara's face isn't polite or reasonable at all. "Were those yours? I can,”

Giant hands land on his shoulders, and push him to the carpet in a flutter of displaced cards. Kiyoshi laughs nervously, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. Conveniently, that also means they're between himself and Murasakibara. 

“easily,”

Murasakibara straddles him. Kiyoshi gets a view of hands, descending with ritualistic slowness. They're massive from this angle. 

“buy you another bag of-!”

_Cold!_

Murasakibara's fingers are icy under his shirt. They carefully fold the fabric up over his chest, exposing his stomach and ribs. They come to rest against either side of him, chilly fingers on the sensitive skin of his upper ribs. 

“Uh,” Kiyoshi stops, worried about what kind of tone might slip into his voice if he keeps talking. He can feel the weirdness there, waiting. He clears his throat, and looks questioningly at Murasakibara. He lets honest confusion mask...

...whatever needs masking. 

Murasakibara's smile is faint, but bone-chilling. His hands stir, drawing back so that tips are crooked like claws, point-down against sensitive skin, and--

\--and too late to run, Kiyoshi recognizes the violet eyes of a _true_ sadist.

\- - -

Torture happens.

_Relentlessly._

Kiyoshi tries to twist around, and makes it halfway before getting pushed back. Helpless giggles stutter out of him, and he can just barely force words between them.

"S-stop! Hyuga! H-help?"

He sees Hyuga's irritated huff, where he sits on the couch off to the left, and hears his _"So anyway, Riko,"_ as he ignores the situation. 

Kiyoshi writhes. He finally manages to twist around onto his stomach, hiding the softer targets, and starts to crawl away.

“No.” says Murasakibara.

Huge hands clamp down above his hips, and drag him back. Kiyoshi sees his own hands scrabbling at the carpet. It's like the view in that one horror movie right before viewpoint character got eaten alive by giant mutant rats. 

Kiyoshi shivers. 

Then he _shudders,_ because an exploratory hand has just found the nape of his neck and squeezed. He could have gone his whole life without feeling that.

Murasakibara's fingers relax slowly. When they shift again, the movement's nearly soothing. His fingers curl under Kiyoshi's jaw. His thumb rests in a dip between his vertebrae. 

Now that Kiyoshi can finally breathe without stuttering, he forgets to. 

Seconds tick by. Kiyoshi starts to breathe again, because it's that or pass out. He risks a glance back. 

With his teeth and his free hand, Murasakibara is opening a packet of crisps. He tips one into his mouth. Then he's meeting Kiyoshi's gaze, and licking the salt off of his fingers. 

There's nothing deliberate about that, nothing suggestive.

Not _at all._

Kiyoshi decides this is a good time to extricate himself. 

Murasakibara apparently disagrees, because his hand tightens again and this time Kiyoshi forgets to stop the sound from getting out. It comes out as a whimper. Partly a whimper. Partly something else. 

Happily, Kiyoshi is already red as a tomato, and has every reasonable excuse, too, so a blush won't betray anything. He forces out a laugh, and shows both hands in the universal "surrender" gesture.

"I'll buy you another bag of candy," he says, voice still a little too breathless, and a little too _wrong_. 

". . ." Murasakibara's hand stirs threateningly, sliding back to pressure points. 

"Oh, ah, two? Two bags!" 

". . ."

"And—" Kiyoshi filters rapidly through everything Kuroko has ever told him. "Popsicles?" he ventures. 

". . ."

"I'll go right now."

_"Yes."_

Murasakibara snaps the word out so quickly, after so much silence, that it makes Kiyoshi twitch. 

Murasakibara stands. He brings Kiyoshi with him, and Kiyoshi's just shaken enough to need the help. It reminds him of _that_ time, hanging in Murasakibara's grip and unable to find his own feet. For a moment, Kiyoshi's smile gets a little hard to keep. 

_”Weren't you saying something about “protecting” something?”_

_”You couldn't protect anything but...”_

_”Was it fun? Basketball.”_

_That was then,_ Kiyoshi reminds himself. He finds his balance.

He promptly loses it again when Murasakibara says "Now," and drags him towards the door. Behind them, the flow of conversation breaks. 

"Hey," Riko calls, "You two, what-- Murasakibara! He's injured! He can't play basketball!"

"Basketball, basketball," Murasakibara mutters, sounding irritated. 

"Convenience store," Kiyoshi explains, and then Murasakibara tugs him through the door and kicks it shut behind them.

\- - -

They barely make it a full block before Murasakibara tugs him into a blind alley.

“Shortcut?” Kiyoshi guesses, knowing it isn't. Murasakibara rounds on him, although there's barely room for that. Kiyoshi crowds against the wall. In the narrow space, it's that or get knocked over. 

"No," says Murasakibara, a few inches from Kiyoshi's face. He puts a hand on Kiyoshi's chest. 

“You're _that_ mad about the candy?” Kiyoshi asks, looking hurt, although part of him is starting to laugh inside.

_“Kiyoshi is an “honest man,””_ Hyuga would say about him, not getting it at all. 

Murasakibara's palm slips down from Kiyoshi's chest, to abs, to abdomen. Kiyoshi doesn't read that as an explanation.

There's no _"Can I?"_ either.

Somehow, though, in the shaky start-stop of Murasakibara's hand, Kiyoshi can read insecurity. Like Murasakibara is scared that Kiyoshi will say no to the question he isn't asking. 

Kiyoshi doesn't.

But he maybe pretends to. A little. Just to appease a part of his mind that thinks he should. 

Kiyoshi pushes lightly at Murasakibara's chest. Like there's anywhere for Murasakibara to go in the narrow space, or any way for Kiyoshi to make him go there. Murasakibara just leans in hard, and then it's Kiyoshi getting crushed to the wall; hands pinned and pulse jumping because the feeling isn't good, but matches his mood.

_Convenience,_ Kiyoshi thinks. _fingers to scratch an itch._

Even if the hands are too big and the nails bite too hard.

Murasakibara holds both of his wrists in one hand, and that won't work if Kiyoshi doesn't let it, because,

_Brat. How weak do you think I am?_

But Kiyoshi lets him. Lets him think whatever he wants, because he can feel his pulse stuttering under Mursakibara's thumb, and this isn't a feeling he often gets outside of a basketball court. 

Murasakibara leans in close, so close that Kiyoshi would have to cross his eyes to keep him in focus.

Then he comes closer.

_Ah._ Kiyoshi thinks. The eyes he instinctively shut blink open again. 

_Ah, he's..._

Mursakibara bites at his lip. Then he acts like he's trying to eat the inside of Kiyoshi's mouth.

_...Really..._

The hands on Kiyoshi press harder, but it feels less like a deliberate show of force, and more like a nervous twitch. 

_Bad at this!_

Kiyoshi can't help it. 

He starts laughing. 

Murasakibara jerks back like he's been burned. He scrubs a hand over his mouth (wiping away a small trail of drool, Kiyoshi notices, and he can feel the wet on his own lips) and glowers. 

"Shut up, Kyo-chin!"

Kiyoshi nods his head, and stops laughing. Tries to stop laughing, anyway. _"Kiyo-chin"_ doesn't help. He quickly raises his hands placatingly, because Murasakibara looks about ready to hit him. 

"Sorry, sorry, it's just... ah." Kiyoshi steps forward, closing the gap even thought a surprised Murasakibara starts to lean away from him. He stops that motion halfway, though, going completely still when Kiyoshi's fingers find his face.

Kiyoshi kisses him. 

He has to stand on tip-toe to do it, and the absurdity of that almost starts him laughing again. 

Instead, Kiyoshi focuses. He moves slow, gentle, with none of Murasakibara's erratic force. Strokes, instead of pushing. Nibbles, instead of biting. It's a tease, not an attack, and he expects Murasakibara to follow when he retreats. 

Murasakibara doesn't. 

The giant has gone oddly still, and it's like falling into the eye of a hurricane. First, choppy water and waves as high as walls, and then nothing. Gentle water and sunny sky. 

It's the quiet that makes Kiyoshi hesitate. He falters and draws back, wiping a hand across his mouth and glancing at Murasakibara's face. There's absolutely no help there. Murasakibara's expression is blanker than Kiyoshi's ever seen it. 

“Ah.” he laughs, and starts to edge sideways. “That was--”

A giant hand slams into the wall beside his head. The other is around the back of his neck before he can say anything. 

Murasakibara isn't any less abrupt, but this time Kiyoshi recognizes the attempt at technique-- his own technique-- even though he's more preoccupied with the fingers digging so close to his pressure points. 

Again. 

He's relieved when Murasakibara's hand slides down his neck and falls away, but not for long, because somehow both of Murasakibara's hands end up on his ass. 

Or, under it. 

Murasakibara pulls. Kiyoshi slides up the wall, not quite believing it when his feet leave the ground. 

Kiyoshi is not exactly small. Hasn't ever been. He was born oversize, with big hands and an unusual height for an infant. His grandmother will tell that to anyone on the slightest pretext, despite Kiyoshi's best efforts with tea and cards and jokes and distractions. 

He is going to be dropped. 

He is _absolutely_ going to be dropped. 

Which is why he's got his arms around Murasakibara's neck, and, when the treacherous brat's hands slide up under his thighs, his legs locked around Murasakibara's waist, too. 

He's not expecting the arrangement to last more than a few seconds, but there's no tremor in the hands holding him. Just how strong...?

Maybe Murasakibara's attempt to pin both of his wrists with one hand wasn't so ridiculous. Maybe Kiyoshi couldn't have fought free, even if he tried. 

Maybe all of this is more real than he'd thought. 

Murasakibara rocks forward. Kiyoshi can close his thighs, but only around Murasakibara's hips.

Which _won't stop moving._

There's no finesse in the motions. They're a teenager's inexperienced rutting, knocking Kiyoshi's back against the wall with every thrust forward. 

_This... this can't be all that better than getting humped by a dog._

Murasakibara's teeth bump against his chin. They bite, hard and clumsy, and scrape against his neck. A frustrated whine chokes up Kiyoshi's throat when he realizes this isn't going to be enough. Not for him.

He pushes back anyway, as much as he can, because the alleyway is growing dark as the sun sets, and the gloom makes it easier.

Kiyoshi wants more. He isn't sure how to get it, in a public alleyway set off of a quiet residential street. Fortunately, ( _No, unfortunately! Definitely unfortunate!)_ Murasakibara doesn't seem to be thinking about their location at all. 

He gives one last thrust and drops to his knees, taking a startled Kiyoshi with him. 

Kiyoshi yelps, already laid out on the concrete before he realizes that he's been set down with relative care, and not dropped.

Murasakibara lands a hand over his mouth, cutting the sound short. Then that hand is gone, tugging roughly at Kiyoshi's belt. Murasakibara fumbles for too long, so Kiyoshi does it for him. 

He doesn't know where this is going, but he needs it to go _somewhere_ , and soon. 

Which is how he ends up on all fours, pants around his knees and Murasakibara pressed up close behind him. 

For a panicked second, Kiyoshi thinks Muraskibara is going to try and enter him. 

He'll have to explain why that won't work, why it really, really won't work, and is all kinds of a bad idea, even worse than all the bad ideas that have brought them to this point. 

Instead, Murasakibara pushes Kiyoshi's legs together and and shoves his cock between them.

...It doesn't really work. 

The friction is dry. Catching. Awkward. It does absolutely nothing for Kiyoshi, who's starting to have second, third, fourth, and fifth thoughts about all of this. 

Especially when Murasakibara says "Turn over," and tries to make him, never mind the cold or the filthy pavement. But Kiyoshi's shirt is probably already ruined, and he's already come this far, so.

Kiyoshi turns over. 

Murasakibara jerks the (likewise, probably ruined) trousers off of him, and then--

And then he 's got a mouth on the inside of Kiyoshi's thigh, and if Kiyoshi didn't have a serious problem before, he does now. 

This is worse than the tickle torture. Kiyoshi writhes, trying not to let his body interpret this as more tickling, and failing, but Murasakibara just holds on and goes on licking, and he has no idea why.

_“I'm not candy,_ Kiyoshi thinks, as a muscle in his thigh starts to spasm embarrassingly. _I don't taste sweet. And I won't melt no matter how much you lick me.”_

Murasakibara's tongue drags at his skin until he can't stand it, and then keeps going anyway, even when Kiyoshi pushes at his head and tries to make him stop.

Kiyoshi is so hard that it hurts.

Drool trickles down his thigh. That should be disgusting. Would be disgusting, if he wasn't so turned on. 

"Mura--!" Kiyoshi half-laughs, half-moans. "Mercy?" he asks it partly as a joke, and his suffocated, unspoken, _Please!_ is a lot more honest. 

Murasakibara urges him over onto his side. One hand holds Kiyoshi's knees, locking them together so that his legs won't slip. His other holds his own cock, guiding it.

This time he slides easier. There's no catching rub, just a slick, hot friction and the hard length nudging Kiyoshi's balls. Murasakibara starts to rut again. 

_Animalistic,_ Kiyoshi thinks again. Force, not finesse. 

It's a frustration. Especially when a part of his mind wants to think about careful fingers, spinning a basketball _just right,_ as they send it towards a perfect three-point goal.

That fantasy can't fit here. Every move Murasakibara makes jerks it away, and pushes it down.

Crushes it. 

Kiyoshi reaches for his own cock, but its hard at this angle, with his right arm pressed under him. 

He hisses out a breath that's got a whine in it, shifting frustratedly. He doesn't know what he's asking for until he gets it.

Murasakibara wraps a hand around his, and forces the motion to change. It becomes Murasakibara's touch, even though it's Kiyoshi's hand.

It's not perfect. It's jolting and awkward and at a strained angle that's not right for either of them.But if Kiyoshi strains with it, and focuses, on _this,_ not on a fantasy that can't fit here, then it's just barely enough. 

He falls over the edge-- leaves a mess across cracked cement that can hardly get dirtier-- and starts to breathe again.

Murasakibara transfers his hand to the ground, stabilizing himself. He starts moving faster, with no pace or rhythm at all now. It's a relief when he comes. 

Less of a relief when he leaves the sticky mess between Kiyoshi's thighs. 

With an abruptness that feels almost violent, Murasakibara pulls away. Doesn't leave anything touching Kiyoshi except his mess, and maybe a thumb-shaped bruise embedded in the back of Kiyoshi's bad knee.

Kiyoshi lays still for a moment. His mind wanders around, looking for instructions, and coming back empty. He feels dazed. Shaken. Filthy. And kind of...

_Kind of good?_


End file.
